


lullaby for a stormy night

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:28:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Doctor's companions, meet the oncoming storm.Orginally written and posted on ff.net June 10th, 2013.





	lullaby for a stormy night

**Author's Note:**

> Little child, be not afraid  
> The rain pounds harsh against the glass  
> Like an unwanted stranger  
> There is no danger  
> I am here tonight  
> \--Vienna Teng

Amelia Pond stands in the doorway, waits patiently for her aunt. She is six years old and wants desperately to run into the storm she hears coming. There is thunder, and she counts in her head, one, two, three, four numbers until she sees the lightning flash across the purple sky. Her aunt is taking forever to find her rain jacket. As the first raindrops come down, she shifts from foot to foot, eager to play and explore and see how high she can make the puddles splash. She wants the water to plaster her hair to her face until she can’t see, wants the thunder to make her jump, wants to dive into the storm and forget everything, like scary walls and empty rooms. She hears more booming thunder, and counts under her breath, waiting for her chance.

* * *

She is four years old, outside with her father. He swings her around and around by her arms, and she giggles maniacally. Putting her down, he ruffles her short ginger hair and runs, yelling “Tag you’re it!” as he does. She immediately stops her foot, yelling that she didn’t even know they were playing, but takes off after him. The sky, which has been gray and sullen all day, starts to pour on her. She can hear her father laughing from the porch. She pushes her bangs out of her eyes and glares upwards. When the rain hits her nose, though, she giggles and suddenly she’s laughing. Then suddenly the rain hurts, and it is getting bigger, more painful. Her mother is suddenly running outside yelling at her father, who dashes from the porch and gathers his daughter up, taking her in to dry her and check for injury. The girl watches the hail ping off the ground with fascination, ignoring her parents. Her mother snarls at her father for being irresponsible. Her father begins to close the windows while her mother grabs another towel. Donna Noble wants to go back out to the porch, but they stop her, and soon she forgets the way the rain and hail made her laugh.

* * *

Martha Jones loves her new room. It’s on the corner of the house and has a window seat that she ends up falling asleep on more often than not. Tonight she is curled up, waiting for her the sunrise of her ninth birthday. She had been reading about sharks, but is more enthralled by the snow swirling outside her window. She abandons her book and inches closer, pressing her hand against the chilly glass, tracing the icy patterns. She scoots closer, trying so hard to make out the stars and moon through the swirling storm. It’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen, but too cold to go outside and fully embrace it. Even if she dared to go, she knows that it is dangerous. She can barely see through her glass and she’s so close to it. She smiles and gives the window a kiss, feeling the coolness against her lips. She falls asleep to the howling of the wind. In the morning, she steals the paper from her parents and reads it, a different chill spreading throughout her body as she sees the wreckage and deaths that happened overnight. The next time it storms, she still watches it from her window, but she leaves and goes to her own bed before she falls asleep.

* * *

The wind is blustering through her hair. She helps it along, pumping her legs faster and faster, swinging higher and higher. She loves this playground, even though in her ten years of living here it has gotten rustier and shadier. She’s not allowed to come here at dusk, but that’s still hours away. She’s bursting with energy. The wind and the thunder are responsible for the gigantic smile on her face. She imagines that if she swings high enough, she can see over the squat, ugly buildings that surround her, but she never can. Still, though, she keeps trying because she knows there’s a view of something so much better out there. The wind is pushing her along now, and she grips the chains tighter as the thunder rumbles loudly. She concentrates, tongue between her teeth, as the first drops start to pelt her. She laughs, loving the warmth, and lets her head fall back, catching raindrops in her mouth. She straightens, shivering in excitement, and waits. There’s a crack of thunder, blue against black clouds, and then Rose Tyler is jumping from her swing into the storm.


End file.
